What did she expect, really-- that he'd explain and a door would open up before them, ready to walk through? That she'd end up about to cross the street again-- hopefully not dripping and naked, at least. It's impossible to know what to expect.

"I guess not," she sighs, and she's not sure if she even thinks that's a bad thing. It's not that she wants to die-- she very much doesn't-- but it's hard to want to leave him behind. Not knowing that he'll be alone.

She can't see any way to avoid that, to fix it for him. She can't change her own mind.

"But I'm all right, being right here."